There's A Hound Asleep On The Stairs, Again!
by TLH
Summary: Sandor Clegane is drunk again... Just a short one shot.


**Something different for me this time! I've stepped away briefly, from my usual muse 'Tristan' because a certain Hound keeps snapping at my heels. **

**It's only a short one this :) **

**There's A Hound Asleep On The Stairs, Again!**

Sandor Clegane was drunk again.

_But not drunk enough!_ He concurred with a vicious growl, his huge ominous figure swaying in the darkness…_Never_ drunk enough!

With a grunt, he lifted the wineskin to his scarred lips and drew a long mouthful, swallowing deeply. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he lingered quietly for a moment as his inebriated wits determined if he could indeed, make it to the top of the stone steps which snaked their way relentlessly to the top of the North Tower.

With effort, he lifted his wine-soaked head and gazed up into the gloom which led to her door. The fear of what may face him beyond it, made him groan and drop his shaggy head to his chest.

Would he ever be drunk enough to venture beyond that forbidden precipice? What waited for him there? Gentle, delicate hands willing to catch his fall?

Or the abyss?..._But wasn't he there already?_

He took another step and stumbled, dropping the wineskin as he steadied his fall. A rasping curse echoed through the cold silence of the stairwell.

_Ah, bugger it!...__Too_ drunk it seemed…once again.

"Little bird…" he wept silently, as giving up, he slumped down on the steps, his head falling into his hands. "Why can you not _**see** **me**_?"

Soundless, his huge shoulders shook, as emotion engulfed him. Intoxication at long last, granting him the relief of a lifetime of unshed tears.

And there he sat in the cold, lonely darkness until eventually, his head heavy with drink and his eyes red with drying tears, he lay back on the cold, stone steps. His long, powerful legs sprawled out before him, as one arm came up to lie across his wounded face. Then his bloodshot eyes closed as he slipped mercifully into drunken oblivion.

As he always did.

**…...**

Soft, noiseless feet tiptoed down and around the winding stairs, chased by dainty shadows cast long and tall in the glow of candlelight, and then stopped.

She listened to the darkness beyond, but could hear nothing more than the steady rise and fall of slumber. Deep, heavy, rasping breaths which she had heard so many times before and now knew so well. A faint smile touched her lips and then she moved on.

Kneeling down beside him, she placed her candle on the step above, and sighed.

"Ah, Sandor Clegane…" she whispered sadly "You are drunk again"

The first time she had found him thus, she had only dared take a peep and finding his giant, drunken body collapsed upon the stairs, she had turned and fled back up to her room, bolting her door behind her. But now, without fear or falter, her small, delicate fingers took the calloused hand that covered his face and gently moved it to rest more comfortably across his chest. Then she looked around, searching and spied the wineskin, it's contents slowly pooling upon the steps.

Securing the cork in its stopper, she lifted his heavy head and slipped it beneath, laying his head back down upon it as tenderly as a mother might her sleeping child. There was little wine left in it, but some comfort was at least, better than none, she thought.

The hound did not stir. He never did.

She watched him for a moment, reaching out to brush a lock of his ragged, dark hair from his cheek and smiled. The scars that had once seemed so frightening and ugly now paled into insignificance against the man that lay beneath.

Her eyes drunk him in, for on the morrow she would not look at him.

Of course, her eyes would turn toward him when he demanded it in that ill-tempered, rasping snarl of his, it was only courteous, was it not? And ladies should always be seen to be polite.

Yes, she would look - but she would not allow her eyes to _see_ him, for then _he_ would see into her soul….. And he would _know._

She could bear most anything from her hound, but not the mockery of her heart, never that.

Leaning forward, she placed a kiss lightly against his scarred mouth, feeling his burnt lips twitch as her own brushed against them.

"Sleep well, my knight." She whispered, her heart aching as she rose to leave him. "My one**_ true _**knight."

**THE END**

**I just thought I would add a small note here, as I have been surprised at how often it has been said to me since I posted this, that one could not imagine Sandor Clegane actually crying. **

**Well, some of you will obviously be surprised by this but Sandor does cry, several times in fact, in the books. **

**It may be that many of those who have asked me about this, haven't read the books and so are basing their thoughts on the first impressions of 'The Hound' in the first series of the TV show. (As at the time of writing this, the second series has not yet been aired & I have no idea how Sandor is going to be portrayed, as HBO have already virtually annihilated his character - all Kudo's to Rory McCann though, who I think is doing a wonderful job with the scraps he is being given) So in that case, I can fully understand some readers doubt that his emotion is credible.**

** BUT, this simple scribble was inspired by the scene Sandor & Sansa have together near the end of book 2 'Clash of Kings', when she finds him drunk and bloodied from battle in her bed chamber. This is the first time Sandor's true emotions surface, fuelled of course by his oft state of drunkeness. Sansa sings the 'Gentle Mother' song to him. GrrM writes... "some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood..." You see, The Hound does have a heart and I fancy it was breaking just as mine was, when reading that wonderful scene. :D - Thank you all for reading.**


End file.
